


Time to Time [DRARRY]

by monochrome_dragons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post War, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Draco Malfoy, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-09-30 02:44:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17215520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monochrome_dragons/pseuds/monochrome_dragons
Summary: It wouldn't take a genius to know that Draco Malfoy is struggling. From finding short-term comfort in the beds of messy haired strangers, to becoming lost in longing of his own tainted memories, the Malfoy heir would be the first to admit he's not who he used to be. The trouble is... does anybody else care?---Each chapter for the first part of the book will have either 'Now' or 'Then' written in the chapter title. Its when each chapter is set. 'Now' is set after the war, after they've left Hogwarts etc. 'Then' is flashbacks of Hogwarts, and some of Draco's memories, usually involving Harry of course.





	1. [1] - Now

Draco Malfoy's back collided with the wall behind him roughly, trapping him between it and the messy haired stranger who had pinned him. Well, maybe stranger was slightly unfair. They knew each other by face enough for Draco to be engaging in a heated make-out judt minutes after entering the muggle establishment (a club, he recalled) and finding an isolated corner. Draco had tangled his fingers through the other man's hair, with an almost desperate longing, within seconds of their lips meeting. As for the 'stranger's' hands - they usually tended to wander, but tonight they sat at his waist, gripping tightly to the prominent hips of someone who probably ate too little but would be unlikely to listen to some random man who frequented a club just to make-out with, and occasionally fuck him every other weekend. His hands didn't move, or wander - perhaps he was just putting his concentration into the searing kiss, lead undoubtedly by the blonde. The darker haired male had no complaints, dragging Draco's hips closer, and while Draco was beginning to think he had no shame either, had to remind himself that he was no better.

The first few times had been an accident; he had just so happened to catch eye contact with a messy haired stranger from across the room, who reminded him a little too much of a certain somebody he was trying to forget. It was a recipe for disaster, Draco had known that, but that hadn't stopped him from dropping by every other Saturday. And sure enough, the slightly taller male would be there.

They hadn't even spoken properly the first time. The man had simply walked over and kissed him. Draco had silently praised the man's confidence as he returned the gesture. Both already intoxicated, the encounter had very quickly led to sex in a cheap hotel room. But neither of them had kept away after that. Draco rather liked the term strangers with benefits, since they obviously weren't exclusive, and clearly weren't quite friends. Draco didn't even know the guy's name.

They'd had a few conversations and drinks since then, but nothing much more than the extended pleasantries until subtle flirting led them to the inevitable. Now it just seemed like routine, as much as that though usually made Draco want to scoff. He thought maybe he'd end up pencilling it in to his calender at this point. 'Meaningless sex with random muggle'. Or at least a good snog. Some routine.

Through the hazy atmosphere of the club, and the pounding of the music in his temples, Draco had barely noticed how heated, and arguably rough their situation had gotten. Draco had now been lifted up, still pressed against the wall as his fingers curled further into the dark hair. The other male's hands had moved to his thighs to hold him up, nails digging into his flesh through his jeans, and lower body pressed against his in a way that would soon become uncomfortable, but for now simply sparked new reactions. Draco didn't immediately notice when lips left his, until they were at his neck, just below his ear lip, causing the blonde to shiver.

"Somebody," he rasped pointedly, "apparently had a bad day."

Draco shrugged, casting his eyes up at the ceiling, trying to come up with a coherent reply while his concentration slipped with each dash of colour his neck gained.

"Well," he ran his tongue along his lower lip, trying not to let on about his breathlessness through his voice, "aren't you observant?"

Draco's stranger gave a soft, but breathless laugh, returning his lips to Draco's, hand sliding up his thigh.

It wasn't the type of routine Draco had envisioned for his 21-year-old self... But it was better than the alternative.


	2. [2] - Now

Soft platinum hair fell into Draco's eyes freely. He had stopped slicking it back ages ago; he'd even dyed it once, but he'd hated it. Black, while it worked to make him unrecognisable to those who didn't personally know him, did not suit him, and had reminded him unintentionally of... well. He ran his fingertips through the curls at the back of his neck, as he sipped at the bitter coffee from the coffee shop near the hotel.  
He was always the first to leave.  
His strangers never seemed to mind much. Or maybe he minded a lot, but by the time he saw Draco again, had forgotten or gotten over it.  
The coffee shop wasn't a terribly long way from his apartment, so he always walked it, coffee in hand. He had only ever stayed to sit inside the coffee shop once. He got strange looks for his appearance - never again.  
He would be lying if he said he didn't adore these walks. His favourite time for then was autumn. On the days where forgetting his gloves left his fingers on the verge of numbness, tightening them around his cup to syphon some heat from it. The days where harsh, cold winds would send a spritz of freezing raindrops into his face with every step he took. Or the days where the wind was not accompanied by rain, and the leaves cracked, and rustled beneath his feet warm arrangements of amber and yellow and brown overwhelming the landscape.  
But those times were not upon him. It was summer and very hot. Marks along his collarbones and neck were visible beneath the slightly v-shaped neckline if his shirt. The short sleeves suited him, but he had only dared wear them once he had mastered a rather pointless cosmetic charm, that allowed him to almost permanently cover the remains of the dark mark from his left arm, and the scars littered across it from where he had desperately tried to cut the ink away. Draco had no doubts it would not have worked years prior. But this was now. And with the Dark Lord vanquished, the dark magic binding him with it must have grown weak, or broken. At least enough for him to hide it.  
He finished his coffee long before returning home, and upon doing so, decided that he couldn't bare to imprison himself today. Staying just long enough to see to his hygiene, and pick up a few things he needed, he was out again. Apparating proved easier than finding a vacant alley to do so in, but soon, he was walking the streets of London. While the Leaky Cauldron was his main destination, he confessed himself in no rush, and took his time browsing muggle shops too. It was easy to lose oneself when surrounded by such curiosity after all.  
But it never lasted for long.  
Before he was totally ready, he was entering the Leaky Cauldron, and finding an unoccupied corner as quietly as possible. For the most part, he was successful, and went unnoticed. Tom, of course, couldn't do this, and had placed a glass on the table before Draco had properly got comfortable. He reached for his wallet.  
"Oh no," Tom said, almost grave, "this one's on the house. Merlin knows you look like you need it."  
Draco simply muttered his thanks.  
It was quite easy really, to notice that Draco Malfoy was depressed. But nobody cared enough to say anything, and Draco couldn't say he hated it being that way.  
It was of course, much too early for a drink, but with a dry chuckle, Draco downed it anyway. Add just a couple more, and Draco gave into the hazy edge surrounding his vision. The haze led him down the familiar Diagon Alley, though he wasn't totally sure he know while. Everything was so different now, and even surrounded by the childhood nostalgia, he felt so hopelessly alone. And isolated. Perhaps the change was a good one. Of course, shops like Ollivander's and Madam Malkin's, or even Flourish and Botts stood timeless, barely changed at all to what they had been. However, places like Gringotts had changed considerably. The bank stood, gleaming white as it had ever been, but after the war - after blasted Potter had flown a bloody dragon through the roof - it had gone through immense renovations. From the inside, you could hardly recognise it to be the same bank.  
And then of course, there were the completely new additions to the street. That Weasley joke shop was the most obvious of course. Draco had heard something about the weasel in his year - Ron - had recently left his position in the Ministry to join his brother in running the store. He'd heard news of them producing more than jokes too; they were now selling products to help those in the war who now couldn't endure a day without triggers plunging them right back into it. It was a good idea, but Draco couldn't properly appreciate it because he hadn't even thought about setting foot in there. He would probably receive a well deserved punch across the face. He didn't go near it.  
Besides, compared to everybody else, Draco didn't feel like he deserved the help. In fact, maybe he deserved what he got. He didn't deserve avoidance of triggers. He didn't deserve what the Weasley's had produced to help. He would suffer, and he was... He was okay with that.  
He headed either down the alley, hoping to maybe find somewhere to browse. He wished he hadn't. As he'd been about to enter a quiet looking shop, who should walk out but the boy who lived himself. Harry bloody Potter. Draco froze, mouth slightly agape, and his hand still slightly outstretched toward the door handle, but path blocked by Potter.  
"Malfoy?" The green eyed boy quizzed, shock lining his voice where hatred usually dripped.  
He opened his mouth to say something else, but Draco was too quick. He took a few hasty steps backwards, almost taking the multiple people he bumped into with him when he disapparated.  
Of all the things he was prepared to deal with at this point in time, Harry James Potter was not one of them.


	3. [3] - Then

Draco couldn't quite remember how or when he found Potter and his friends by the lake. He remembered it was late, after curfew, and dark. Of course, after what had happened in his first year, he wasn't about to go off and tell a professor. But the reason he'd been out so late was probably to be alone. Draco remembered going to leave, only to stop when he heard music. Was that... a guitar? It was, and Draco had found himself hidden behind a tree nearby to where the trio sat. It was Potter - of course it was - who was playing. Be was good, but it appeared that he'd only recent started playing. He remembered wondering who could have taught him, but such questions left his head once deemed unanswerable.

He sat by the tree, unseen by the Gryffindors until the early hours of the morning. Weasley and Granger had fallen asleep, yet Harry had continued playing. Draco only moved when the two stirred, and Potter helped them groggily to their feet, and the three of them headed back up to the castle in the dying moonlight. The Slytherin had followed once he was sure they wouldn't see him.

After that first time, Draco spent a lot of time by the lake. Potter was there almost every day with his friends, though for a while, it seemed like the night he'd first found them was a one off for curfew breaking. Draco often walking by there during frequent walks, but Potter was never there

Until one night he was.

He was alone. He hadn't been earlier, after lunch. Weasley and Granger had been with him then, and as always he'd hidden himself and listened to the music. But this time he was alone. Draco had almost walked straight out into Potter's line of sight, due to his expectation that Potter wouldn't be there. He scrambled back behind the tree, peering out to make sure it was only Potter he'd seen, and not another student or a Professor or something. But alas, he'd been right the first time. He wasn't playing yet, instead looking to be tuning it. Draco gave a soft sigh, and a little smiled, before concealing himself again, and waiting almost impatiently for the Gryffindor to start playing.

These situations calmed him. He couldn't have explained why, even if he'd wanted to, so he ignored the ease of it, and allowed the calm to simply breeze over him as the music from the guitar carried.

This wasn't the last time Potter came alone to play. During the daytime, he continued to go and play for his friends, but at nighttimes he went alone, and it was most nights. It didn't take long for Draco to pick up on his routine. On school days, Potter would play for his friends for about an hour, and they would talk about general things friends spoke about. School nights, he would play alone for two hours, and he appeared to be very strict about that, probably to allow for a good amount of sleep, so Draco made sure not to be late so he could enjoy the whole time.

Weekends were different. During the days, the trio would be down at the lake for an unpredictable amount of time starting straight after lunch. Of course, Potter wouldn't play for the whole duration, butoften, they would help one another with homework, and Draco wouldn't be a Slytherin if he didn't use that to his advantage. Friday nights, Potter would play by ear (no pun intended). Sometimes it would only be two hours like the rest of the week, only less strict. Other times he would stay for a few hours more.

But Saturday nights... Saturday nights were what Draco liked most. Potter was alone and would play through until sunrise never growing bored, and never running out of things to play or perfect. Draco tried to hate himself for it, but his favourite moments were when Potter completely lost himself in the music and would him along, or mutter lyrics in tune. In these moments, he couldn't help but peer around from his hiding place to look at him. He always looked so peaceful, and so lost but in a good way. Like he was disconnected from reality in a blissful escape, where he didn't have to be everything everybody else wanted him to be. Draco often found himself wanting to reveal himself to Potter, until he remembered just that. This was Potter. To him, he was nothing more than a Malfoy. He couldn't just walk out and interact with his so easily.

Potter would likely have hit him in horror at the fact that he'd been listening to him. No. He couldn't. Potter had rejected his friendship back in their first year. It was too late now.

And so, be continued to keep his presence secret. It was the only way he could guarantee hearing him, and it had unfortunately become something of a dependency for him. He couldn't blow it. Not now. Not at all. It wasn't something that Draco would ever admit, but here, by the lake, he almost felt close to Pot- Harry. And it was Harry. Just Harry. Not the boy who lived. Not the golden boy, or anything else. Harry. Draco would've given anything to be able to call him that to his face, as a friend. But in secret longing by the lake was better than impossibility everywhere else.

As it happened, it was not Draco who brought the end to the trips to the lake. They lasted well over a year, and the interrupting summer was the loneliest Draco could remember enduring.

If he'd had to predict when it would happen, he'd probably have said at the end of the fourth year - the same year Draco began listening - simply because of the stress the fourteen hear old must have been in, considering his involvement in the Triwizard Tournament, and his witness to Voldemort's return. Potter had been upset - more than upset; distraught. He'd been angry, yet drained, and with all those emotions flood8ng through him, Draco expected the guitar playing at the lake to stop. Instead... they increased in frequency, and Draco was there for all of them.

No; it happened in fifth year.

They were nearing the end of the year, with OWLs just ending, and with a bang thanks to the Weasley twins with their hilariously stupid idea of setting off fireworks. Potter had been angry all year, Draco could tell even in his strumming. But of course, this being Harry Potter, he'd gotten into some trouble. Draco admitted that he'd pulled a total dick move by joining the Inquisitorial Squad, but he would never have been able to jo8n Dumbledore's Army. Next best thing. Yet he doubted that his and his fellow Slytherin's involvement with Umbridge had much to do with how Potter had ended up in the Department of Mysteries. Draco's mother hadn't been there. But Narcissa had ways of persuading Lucius to keep her in the loop. She then found ways to pass information to Draco. Draco knew of Sirius Black's deaths before the Prophet had even a hint, and he gained, along with that, the knowledge of who killed him, and his relation to Harry that Narcissa thought might cause some reaction.

And boy, did the Gryffindor react.

Draco had been at the lake at Potter's normal time. Potter was late. Late by almost an hour. But Draco hadn't left, though remained hidden. There had been no way for him to expect what happened, though maybe it wasn't totally unguessable. Potter had spoken about the guitar to Weasley and Granger at the lake before. It had been a gift from Sirius, and it had been his godfather that had begun to teach him in the first place. It was Sirius who had gotten Harry into playing.

The guitar got what was coming to it.

Potter had played for a little while, but his tunes were broken and his notes were too harsh, playing off his fingertips roughly. Then he stood. Draco assumed he was just ready to leave. This was not the case.

Draco truly struggled to hold himself back when Potter began destroying the instrument, bashing it against the ground, crying and yelling as he did so. It was painful to watch and Draco couldn't imagine what it must have been to feel. But he couldn't move away. He stood, utterly transfixed by the pained boy as he completely annihilated the guitar. Stayed as Potter threw the broken pieces into the lake. Stayed as Potter sank to his knees, sobbing to the point of making his entire body shake as it refused to stop. Draco stayed, even when Harry Potter got up again, dried his eyes, wiped his face of emotion, and made his way up to the castle as though nothing had happened.

Draco Malfoy stayed, for hours into the night, and wished he'd done something more productive than mere silent presence. He knew it was a pointless thing to wish - he knew he'd never have done anything. But he wished it anyway.


	4. [4] - Now

Draco decided, after tragically bumping into Potter in Diagon Alley, that he hated love.

It was ironic really.

Don't be mistaken, he understood it well enough. His hatred at it lied with justifiable reasons, not a mere fear of the unknown. It wasn't like seeing couples happily living out their lives together made him sick to his stomach. Not with disgust at least; more with burning longing. He understood the appeal of spending the rest of your life with the one you love. Marrying them. Having a family with them. He understood it all. The problem was that he couldn't have it - not properly. It wasn't like he deserved it anyway. But that was beside the point. He hated love. He hated the way his chest hurt when he thought about Potter, and how he hated Draco. Despised the thought of his messy black hair, and how he couldn't card his fingers through it, and his beyond mesmerising emerald eyes that he could barely even remember. Detested the thought of Potter with someone else. Draco loathed the fact that no matter what he did, he could never seem to get Harry Potter out of his head.

Love was a sickness. A disease. It infected him, twisted through his veins, wrapping tightly around his nerves, and settling in his bones. It had the power to push Draco to the comfort of a stranger's arms. Power that reduced him to a screaming mess, filled to the brim with despair in the uncomfortable darkness of his own room. And understanding became nothing but a curse when it provided Draco with the knowledge that he could do nothing about it. He was hopelessly in love with Harry Potter, and he knew that. It had been simmering in his mind for years, and now he was trapped by it. It had been at least manageable in school. Who knows, perhaps that was simply because he was able to surround himself with Potter. Through petty bullying maybe, but he felt he'd received his karma for that. Now, he was left with bumping into him in Diagon Alley, only to back away scared and disapparate. Merlin, he must have looked like a fool. Maybe he deserved that too.

Looking around his apartment, he wondered what Potter would actually think of him now. He knew the Gryffindor had never truly cared for the superiority of pure blood families like the Malfoys - he'd preferred the homeliness of the Weasley's home. Draco didn't blame him. And true, his apartment was less homely than he would have liked, but he much preferred it to the huge manor he'd live in otherwise. Would Potter too?

Not that it would matter of course. Potter didn't know where he lived and never would. So long as he didn't give the auror office reason enough to make a house call. Potter would still have his rights to join them, even if he was beginning his resignation process. He had until September left, since that was when his new job began. Draco had read it all in the Daily Prophet. He wasn't sure what business the boy who lived had with going back to Hogwarts - surely he'd be the centre of attention all over again, which he'd made painstakingly clear was something he hated. Then again, Draco guessed it might be the positive familiarity that had drawn him back in. Being an auror was good, he supposed, but Potter had been fighting off Dark Wizards his whole life. Why should his job entail doing the same thing too, when a job was his choice for once?

Draco had to admit, he could see the appeal with working at Hogwarts. Maybe he'd enjoy it. He had tried a few jobs here and there, to the shock of most. But the fact unfortunately remained that he was incredibly wealthy, and wouldn't need to work a day in his life to live in extensive comfort. Therefore, a job, for Draco, was something he merely wanted to do. And he could literally afford to be picky about it. He didn't want to be stuck in a job that he hated when he didn't have to be there, because that would just diminish his will to live quicker. He wanted to enjoy what he chose to do. Of course, this was why he was still currently unemployed. His last job had made him lose hope for awhile. He hadn't even managed to last his usual judgement period of six months. He had hated it from the first day, so it was a miracle he'd lasted four.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he had something else to pass the time between jobs. but any hobbies he'd had were spoiled for him now. Potions was more of a necessity so he never ran short of calming draught or dreamless sleep. Reading was good to settle him before sleep, but it felt like something of a chore, embedded into his routine. Chess couldn't be played alone. As for music... the image of Potter destroying his beloved guitar with such hatred kept him away.

Perhaps he should do something... shocking. Apply for a job at the Weasley joke ship? Or better yet - apply for a job at Hogwarts? Yeah, right. Draco almost laughed. The thought, the very idea, was nothing but a joke, and could never be anything more.


	5. [5] - Then

The Slytherins were acting weird. Only around Draco. They had been whispering all morning, and it had only become worse as he'd made his way up to breakfast.  
In hindsight, Draco now knew that it was because somebody had slipped him a 24 hour love potion to make him fall in love with Potter. However, at the time, Draco hadn't even a hunch. He could only imagine the Slytherins' shock when he acted no different.  
"Potter looks cheerful today," Pansy hinted slyly.  
Draco had stayed subtle and feigned disinterest as he looked up to see that Potter was indeed looking rather cheerful. Draco seemed to prefer glaring holes into his copy of the Daily Prophet.  
"Maybe it's his birthday?" Blaise suggested, sending Pansy a raised eyebrow.  
"Don't be stupid Blaise. Potter's birthday is July 31st."  
Well, he wasn't acting any different yet then... surely it would catch up to him soon.  
But it never did. Draco went about his day in exactly the same manner as he always did. Strutting around the castle as though he owned the place. Sending petty insults to those he deemed less than himself. In potions, when Longbottom completely annihilated his draught, he sneered, and he shoved past Weasley and Potter to get out once the lesson ended. In the common room, he noticed all the attention on him, and beamed under it. But he didn't mention Potter without a prompt, and it was only to score and point out why he was so annoying. By the end of the day, after a painfully regular dinner, the Slytherins decided that maybe their potion just hasn't been brewed properly. It hadn't taken effect, and they'd simply have to try again another day.  
The next day however, attention still stuck to Draco. A few people believed maybe the potion would have a delayed reaction. Others were just watching his normal behaviour, trying to see if they'd missed anything. And there were a few who simply paid attention to him in general, wondering how he got away, effect free. Over the course of the day, Draco's routine still didn't change, and it wasn't until later that evening that anything really clicked in anyone's mind. It was luck alone that Draco had been on his way down the stairs when the conversation took place. Nobody saw him, and he was able to listen in.  
"Oh shit." It was a seventh year.  
"What?" Pansy replied, snapping until the guy spoke again.  
"I think I just figured out why the potion didn't work on Malfoy."  
"Pray tell." Blaise was smirking; you could hear it.  
"Well... It was a love potion to make him fall in love with Potter specifically, right? Well, it didn't work. But of course, it wouldn't work if he was _already_ in love with Potter."  
"But that's-"  
"No, it makes sense. If we'd brewed the potion wrong, wouldn't it have had negative effects on him? It wouldn't just do nothing. Unless it had nothing _to_ do. Draco is already in love with Potter. _That's_ _why_ he didn't act any different."  
"Shit..." Blaise sighed.  
"That... that actually does make sense." Pansy reasoned.  
"Exactly," the seventh year hummed smugly.  
Meanwhile, Draco snuck back up the stairs quickly, closing the curtains around his bed, and charming them so nobody who entered the dorm could hear his initial panic attack, which eventually dissolved into tears, and hyperventilation. They weren't supposed to know. _They_ _weren't_ _supposed to know._ What would they think of him now? Would they tease him? Make fun of him? Go as far as telling his father? This was truly the worst thing that could have happened right now, and Draco hadn't slept that night, too terrified of his own goddamn feelings to relax.  
 _Fuck._


	6. [6] - Now

As it turned out, none of his peers had ever mentioned anything about his sexuality, or his crush on Potter. To him or to anyone.

Draco had silently thanked them for that.

If only they could see him now... What would they think of him? So hopelessly invested in someone he wasn't even properly with. Relying in meaningless sex with a stranger for validation he got from nobody else. Maybe they'd be more willing to understand if it was a female, even if they did know his sexuality. But he didn't live by his family's values anymore. He was gay, and he wasn't going to hide that.

Almost, but not quite, by chance, it turned out that this particular Saturday was definitely going to drag Draco and his stranger to a hotel room. Their bodies so close, movements messy but working together. Their kisses heated and falsely passionate, and uncontrollable, tongues desperately, invisibly entangled. Their hands reaching for any sort of skim contact they could find. The club was packed, but nowhere was busy enough to hide them if they went further. And both were desperate to do so. Broken thought trains flew through Draco's head, as he struggled to focus on anything but his stranger for longer than three seconds. He was attempting to think of a place closer than the hotel, but with enough privacy.

There wasn't one.

Which lead to the two stumbling clumsily through the streets, stopping every few paces to make-out. Draco couldn't remember ever feeling so desperate in these not so rare encounters, but his whole body was craving more with each passing second. Both were visibly impatient by the time they got and reached their room. With dark eyes, and loss of breath, carelessness was finally able to surface, and garments littered the floor within minutes, exposing flesh that gradually became dashed with dark splotches of colour, as the atmosphere grew heavy, and thick, only cut through by inevitable strings of sounds

\---

Draco wasn't quick to move the next morning. He still woke before the other male, but made no effort to leave before he did wake. He just laid there, staring at the ceiling, remaining silent and completely still save for his breathing.

When his stranger finally did awake, he hid his surprise. In fact, to Draco's surprise, he just casually shifted, and laid his head on Draco's chest. Dangerous ground. Alarm bells. But Draco just went along with it.

"You're still here." The dark haired one murmured.

Draco hummed softly, "Is that a problem?"

"Of course not. Just... let's not make it a habit."

"Agreed."

Silence followed for a few moments and Draco found himself carding his fingers through the brunette curls, while the other traced delicate patterns along Draco's stomach with his fingertips. It was unclear whether the silence was comforting or not, but it wasn't exactly awkward either way. Maybe they just weren't used to being around each other and being able to stay silent for longer than a minute.

The stranger seemed to sense Draco's brewing question, and laughed before he could ask it.

"I swear, if you ask 'what are we?', I might actually die."

Draco cringed, "God no. Hadn't even crossed my mind."

His stranger laughed again, pausing his patterns on Draco's stomach for a second, but starting again as he once again relaxed.

"What were you going to ask?"

"It- it's stupid."

"Yeah, we're the definition of stupid. We're literally cuddling after a 1000th night stand."

"Point taken," he paused for a moment, "I was going to ask, are you gay?"

A pause. Then a laugh. But not a taunting one. A soft one.

"Similar cringe level to 'what are we?' considering," the male pointed out, "but I suppose it's a valid question. Yes. I'm gay."

Draco hummed. The following three second silence was expectant, but Draco remained oblivious until it was pointed out to him.

"And you?"

"Oh. Uh... gay."

"Any particular reason you're asking?"

Draco didn't answer at first. This was extremely thin ice. He was about to verge on - or rather dive head first into - personal conversation; the type of conversation you should never really have with a one night stand, regardless of how many one night stands had happened. But Draco was curious, and the truth was, he had nobody else to ask. He dealt with this alone. He'd already seeked comfort in the form of sex from his stranger. He had nothing to lose but that sex to seek emotional comfort too.

"How did people react?"

"To me being gay? Holy shit, um... good, I suppose. In the nicest way possible way, nobody really cared. Long as I was happy. I'm assuming, from the fact that you're asking in the first place, that things didn't go quite so well for you?"

Draco shrugged, then realised the brunette couldn't see him, his head still on his chest.

"Well, hard to judge. I never actually came out."

"How does that-"

"I liked someome. More than liked him. Fucking hopelessly in love with him and... and the people I surrounded myself with found out to put it loosely. They knew, but... never asked. And I never told. After school, we lost contact. Or... well, I cut everyone out."

Draco groaned. He was never usually one for oversharing but...

"And the guy?"

"What?"

"The guy you were hopelessly in love with," he was smiling, "You cut him out too?"

"Didn't need to. We had no strings to cut. Well..." he shook his head lightly.

The other male hummed, and sat up, raising an eyebrow at Draco, who had his head tilted back to rest against the headboard, his hair a stylish mess.

"And in that single conversation, I know you so much better."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

The male shrugged, and proceeded to hunt down his discarded clothes, as he probably had places to be, though not looking to be in a rush.

"Well, maybe it is, maybe it isn't. This isn't exactly stereotypical."

Draco couldn't disagree with that, and allowed a small scoff of laughter, as he sat forward, arms resting in his knees.

"I assume I'll see you in two weeks," the brunette winked, "And I believe then it'll be my turn to get dangerously personal. Deal?"

Draco laughed again, "Yeah, okay. Deal."

"Forgive my sudden departure, but we don't want broken ice yet," he smiled almost goofily, no doubt to lighten the mood, "Until next time, blondie."

Draco bit his lip as he watched the male leave, returning his brief wave.

"Until next time, indeed."


	7. [7] - Now

Mental breakdowns were actually pretty common for Draco. Okay, so they weren't all total meltdowns, but panic attacks were awful to deal with alone, as Draco had to do. So when it was a full blown crisis, non-existent control of his thoughts and actions seemed better than hyperawareness of them. Wanting to die felt more controllable than feeling like he was dying without a choice. And maybe it was unhealthy, but personally he'd take his own blood over uncontrollable shaking any day.

He was pretty sure muggles were put under surveillance for their own safety for this sort of self-abuse, but muggles also didn't understand what Draco's reasons were. And they wouldn't. Not only would they need obliviating after, but they were private. Draco didn't need pity, or want it for that matter, and that's all his tales would bring from anybody who wasn't aware of the wizarding war. So Draco was in no hurry for somebody to witness these moments.

When he finally calmed, it was difficult not to survey the damage. Scratch marks covering his torso. Draco hated the scars he'd tried to claw away, but most of that hatred came from the fact that he deeply believed he deserved them. He didn't appreciate being a guinea pig, but he didn't blame Potter. He never blamed Potter. He deserved what he got, or so his scars reminded him. So, yes, he would try to claw the memories of that particular bathroom duel from his flesh, but he was only too aware that were permanent.

Besides, those red marks were not his main concern. They would fade in an hour. The mess of his arm was entirely different matter on the other hand. He had scratched and scratched and scratched over the ink of the dark mark, til the skin was raw, and bleeding. That was definitely going to be sore, likely for quite a few weeks. Especially as he had scratched over new attempts to cut the branding away. Neither worked of course, except to make a bloody mess of his arm. However, it meant Draco could wrap a bandage around it tightly without feeling stupid about it. It would be gone from his sight, at least for a few days while it became enough of a scab that he only had to worry about catching it on something. The only things he was really worried about were the nightmares that came along with this sort of breakdown. And despite it having been verging on months since he and his stranger had broken that boundary of revealing personal revelations to one another, he wasn't sure he wanted him to witness those nightmares. But at the same time, he was a distraction that Draco couldn't afford to miss out on.

Besides, Draco thought bitterly, it was his turn to tell the other something about himself...

\---

Draco's ears rang painfully, muddling the screaming, and the curses of everyone around him. These sounds, and the accompanying bright lights of spells providing an unfortunate sensory overload that he really couldn't afford right now. People were dying, left, right, and centre. All around him, in every direction. And he was going to be next if he didn't focus. And breathe. And-

-

"Blondie? Blondie, wake up!"

Draco woke with a jerk, impulsively sitting up, and almost headbutting who'd woken him. The beginning of a disallowed name tainted the tip of his tongue against his lower lip before he remembered where he was, who he was with. He wasn't actually sure who he'd prefer at this point. His stranger looked terrified; a disconnected fear, as though he was scared for Draco. But why would he be?

But when he felt the familiar sting of sweat in wounds and realised exactly why.

"I'm okay," Draco gasped, seemingly more to calm himself than his stranger.

"Like Hell are you okay."

"Really, I-"

"Oh no, Blondie. Absolutely not. Come on, sit up."

Draco resisted the urge to grumble, instead just obeyed, albeit hesitantly. While he grounded himself, catching his breath, running shaking fingers through his hair, and pressing sweaty palms to bloody wounds, the brunette retrieved a mug of water, since they were bigger, and he thought Draco would have a better chance at holding onto it with his unsteady hands.

"My turn, huh?"

"You don't have to-"

"You're curious."

"Good at reading people as well as snogging, I see. Look, I'm a sucker for whatever this is we do, believe me. But if there's a line, tell me. I'd tell you. What with our circumstances, we don't really have room for silly things like hard feelings or betrayal over lack of trust. That's why our thin ice doesn't break, right?"

"Right," Draco nodded, taking a sip of the water, "only I have no line. Or, if I do, you haven't hit it yet."

The other male looked at him strangely, as though he thought the blonde had other motives for being so persistent. Draco thought that was stupid for a split second before realising that maybe he did. Maybe this was the desperate side of him talking; the side that longed to not be so alone in his head. And his stranger was the only person he had physically. It seemed easy to latch to him enough to vent otherwise impossible emotions, but not so tightly that he couldn't let go when the time came.

"You might, but other than this-" he gestured to the hotel room lingering in his gesture to the bed, "- I have nothing to lose. Ask."

His stranger stared for another moment, his face an unclear expression between confused, shocked, and void of expression altogether. But a moment later, the look melted, and he smiled in a way that made Draco think he'd figured something out. He tried not to dwell in what that might be. Whatever it was seemed to relax him though, and he let his shoulders slump, and when he spoke, his tone was incredibly soft, as though scared Draco would change his mind, clam up, and answer nothing.

"What made the nightmare so bad?"

Draco gave a soft exhale, resisting the urge to smile or overthink.

"It was real," Draco answered without further hesitation, but paused, biting his lip for a moment before adding, "Flaring PTSD from time to time."

"PTSD?"

Draco nodded, but said nothing. He hoped the brunette wouldn't ask about that particular point, more due to his inability to talk about it, rather than any lack of desire to. He must have gotten the hint, because he glazed over it, to focus on something just as uncomfortable, but that he was much more able to talk about.

"Is that related to the scars?"

"Some of them."

"Some of them?"

Draco pointed to the scratch marks at his torso and forearms, "these are. During the nightmares, and panic attacks, that happens." He pointed to a part of his forearm where only the dark mark, and scars from purposeful self-infliction were visible, "these I guess so. I foolishly tried to cut the mark away?"

"The tattoo?"

"It's... it's not a tattoo exactly. I- there's no way to get rid of it. It's almost like branding I guess? Or... is branding. Something I was forced into as a teen by my father, and- and others, and couldn't get out of. I can't really talk much in detail about it, by law, but... stuff they did, stuff they caused, I-" he sighed shakily, "A lot of people will have been diagnosed with PTSD after that."

His stranger nodded slowly, seemingly trying to take all that in. Maybe it had been too much to throw out there? Would he be painted as evil yet again? Ill-advised, and stupid he could deal with. He'd add pathetic into that mix in a heartbeat too... but being called evil really hit a chord with him. But after a few moments, his attention returned.

With slight hesitancy, the brunette reached forward, tracing gentle fingertips against the scars on his torso, being mindful to avoid the angry red scratches.

"What about these? Are there self-inflicted too, or-?"

"No. No, that happened in school. It's hard to explain to you how exactly it happened, because it's hard to believe, but... it was effectively an accident. He didn't know this would happen..."

"Somebody else did that to you?" The other male furrowed his brow in shock.

Draco only nodded.

Silence followed from that, the two sitting in a state of unclear comfort. Or maybe it was a lack thereof. Neither said a thing, or even tried to for a long while, and it worked in favour for both. The brunette was trying to properly understand everything that he had just been told, process it in a way that wasn't so terrifying as the way it had been told. Meanwhile, Draco was trying to decide whether or not to obliviate him. It seemed the best choice, and that was it, he'd had his vent now. He was supposed to be okay, and it wasn't fair for his stranger to have to deal with all that. But something inside him screamed at him to let the brunette keep his memories. If he wasn't already running for the hills, then Draco would like to believe he could be trusted with them. Neither needed insurance, after all. Nothing done or spoken between them left this room.

In the end, it was Draco who broke the silence.

"I suppose I seem really broken now."

The brunette hummed, "no more than I knew the first time we came here."

Draco cocked his head, "how so?"

"Maybe I didn't realise the depth of the pain, but I knew you were hurting when you took your shirt off. You weren't worried about hiding the scars. And obviously I wasn't going to say anything. I was horny, and figured - incorrectly - that I wouldn't see you again. Y'know, I assumed if we went all the way, we'd both avoid the club and that would be it. But obviously-"

"That didn't happen." Draco hummed.

"Exactly. So, yes; now I know how you're broken and hurting. But that doesn't make you more so."

"No running away then?"

The brunette grinned, "on the contrary. This is a challenge, Blondie. Not everybody is so painfully aware of what makes them so humanly fragile. I'm really going to have to do some self evaluation before next time."

"Next time." Draco hummed again, bemused.

His stranger winked, "I'll put it in the calender."


	8. [8] - Now

Boredom was a strange experience. Sometimes, you were bored, and you knew exactly how to alleviate said boredom. Other times, nothing you seemed to do worked to entertain you. And then there were those times where boredom struck, and no matter how unbearable it became, the motivation to do something about it just wasn't there. That was the type of boredom that Draco had been stuck inside an endless loop of for the past few days.

In fact, the only reason he pushed past his non-existent motivation, and very reluctantly decided to go out, was because he had completely depleted his potions stock, and calming draughts and dreamless sleep were the only reasons he hadn't offed himself during the first year or so after the war. And he didn't rather fancy his chances of giving them up just yet, and that meant a trip to Diagon Alley was necessary.

He told himself he could try browsing while he was there to alleviate some boredom, or may even bring back some form of motivation.

The first part was easy of course, with magic on his side. While he had to be careful with the magic he used, thanks to some ministry officials still being suspicious, he was still in a fairly comfortable position to deem sending off his purchases a safe bet. It was the second part that turned out to be the more difficult part. He had stopped in front of the Weasley joke shop, though indeed in the other side of the street. He wasn't sure why it had grabbed his interest, but he was looking, so it must have done. He wondered whether it  _was_ true about the coping products they had made, and whether they'd have anything that could help him. It was pointless of course; he could barely imagine walking in there. Besides, it's not like they'd want to sell him anything. He didn't exactly deserve the help their products were offering.

A hand on his shoulder both suddenly dragged him back to reality, and tightened the knots in his stomach and throat. He turned, sharply, expecting the worst, but his instinctive stare was met only with piercing emerald eyes. The look on Potter's face told Draco his eyes had betrayed him; his dear cracked through the icy grey.

"S-sorry, I-" Potter cleared his throat, pulling his hand back, before nodding towards the brightly coloured shop, "Thinking about anything in particular?"

Draco didn't respond for a moment, his shock almost paralyzing him. Potter must have caught himself, because he backtracked.

"Hello Malfoy." Draco flinched, but tried to hide it, unsuccessfully, "How have you been?"

"You don't need to fake pleasantries with me, Potter." He replied softly.

He took a step back, checking his immediate space was clear. Recognition of his actions flashed across Potter's expression, and he followed Draco's step back with a step of his own, forward.

"No, wait! Don't-"

Draco disapparated.

For a split second, Draco glanced around, panicked and terrified that be might have dragged Potter back with him. Thankfully, he hadn't, but that didn't make him any less panicked. A low growl began in his throat, and erupted from his lips in a huge yell. In his anger, various ornaments and pieces of furniture fell to the floor. Afterwards he wasn't sure whether he'd knocked them, or had a bought of accidental magic. Either way, he wasn't compelled to clear up yet. His train of thought was too far gone to care about a simple task, when his blatant self-abuse was much more prominent. He felt stupid, completely, and utterly stupid. Potter had tried to be civil - Draco wasn't totally oblivious - and all he'd done was act defensive and leave. It was no wonder they'd not gotten on in school, and had no chance now.

He wished he had fixed up his now wrecked apartment, when a knock at his door cut through the otherwise silent room. Expecting it to simply be his neighbours concerned about the yell, he didn't hesitate to answer the door, regardless of the fact that he did not want to.

He opened the door, an apology on his lips, before he saw who it was, and remained quiet. There was his answer. Accidental magic had sent his stuff to the ground, otherwise the Ministry wouldn't really have given a shit. Draco didn't say anything; didn't greet them or invite them inside. He stood there emotionlessly, waiting for one of them to speak.

The male, and the one in front, had a nervous disposition, as though to be here was a huge task, and emotionally taxing. Who knew; maybe the guy had anxiety. But the way he kept running his fingers through his blonde hair (which almost matched Draco's), the more impatient Draco became; he wished the man would get on with it.

His partner -  tall woman with long brown hair, and obvious but sleek make-up - must have noticed her work-mate's struggle, and Draco's impatience, because she cleared her throat, taking over.

"Mr. Malfoy?" He asked.

"Unfortunately," he sneered in response.

This put her off for a second, but she quickly recomposed herself.

"We've had reports of potentially destructive magic being used here. Is that true, sir?"

"Yes," Draco scoffed, "It was definitely destructive to my apartment. But I assure you, the magic was accidental."

The male hummed quietly, "may we come in?"

Draco rolled his eyes, but extended his arm, opening the door wider for them. The male ducked under his arm with ease, being so small, but the woman was taller than him, so he reluctantly stepped aside. He made to close the door, but a third figure stood there. Draco's heart clenched, and he willed himself not to lash out again. He had no set destination to leave to this time; this was his home after all. Clenching his jaw, he allowed the messy haired male to enter before closing his door harshly and moving over to a corner of the room. He continued clenching and unclenching his jaw as the first two ministry workers surveyed the damage to his home. He cast his haze down however, so as not to catch Potter's eye, which he was trying to do with a total lack of subtlety.

"What are you doing here?" Draco huffed under his breath, still not looking up, "Didn't I make it obvious that I don't want to talk."

"I'm here on business. Nothing more."

"Except you're currently sidelined. I've read the papers; you're leaving the Ministry."

"Well, I haven't left yet."

Draco said nothing to that, remaining silent, and leaning against his wall. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Potter open his mouth to say something. However, he got nothing out before he was interrupted.

"Thank you," the male spoke up, "given it was accidental magic, as you said, there's not much we can do except suggest practising better control - we can't risk muggles being present if this happens again."

"Nothing I didn't know already." Draco rolled his eyes.

"Sorry sir, this is just protocol. We-"

"Look. I know that the Ministry has me listed, alright? You're always looking for something against me. I'm not stupid. But, I'm not my father. I'm in a muggle apartment, and you would know I haven't been to my family home in months."

"Malfoy-" Potter began.

"Don't!" The blonde sighed sharply, "Don't call me that. Just leave me alone. Please."

If Potter - or the other two for that matter - noticed his voice crack on the last word, then they were polite enough to ignore it. When nobody moved, Draco walked over to his door and opened it.

"If you're done here..."

With a quick glance to one another, the two he didn't know left with haste, nodding politely to him as they did so. The one he did know - for better or worse - paused beside him, and gave Draco a look that made his chest tighten.

"Mal-" he cleared his throat, "I mean-"

"Please spare me," Draco shook his head, slumping his shoulders tiredly, "and forgive my rudeness earlier."

Potter looked for a moment as though he wanted to say something else, but evidently decided against it, instead giving his own polite nod, and leaving.

Draco leant against the door once it closed, letting out a heavy sigh, trying his damndest not to let his thoughts wander too much.

He was less than successful.


	9. [9] - Now

Draco was slightly surprised to find that he had arrived at the club before his stranger. His mind tossed around the quickly formulated thought that maybe he wasn't coming at all, but try as he might, Draco couldn't really see a negative. He liked these times, obviously, but since the Ministry had visited him, dragging Potter into the closer confines of his personal life he'd found it rather difficult to focus on anything else. He thought maybe his stranger would help with that, but now that he was here, waiting, he was less sure. He was beginning to think the time was approaching - and quickly at that - that this would have to stop. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't fair on either of them to use the other as a substitute for somebody they couldn't have. It had to stop eventually, they had both known that from the beginning, but this was the first time that Draco had really thought about the reality of it. Maybe it would be best if the other male didn't show up at all.

But part of him couldn't let him just leave either. He found himself sat at a table, close to the bar, but still relatively tucked away. He could be seen, but wasn't being noticed. He was nursing his almost empty glass with his eyes closed when his stranger did arrive, and only knew he was even there when he was already almost to the table. Draco went to stand, stopping himself in a not-so-subtle manner when he saw that the other male also had a drink. He sat, and smiled softly. Draco returned it, but it felt weak, and forced.

"I thought it only fair to have a drink too. I don't have to catch up do I?" he joked uncertainly.

Draco looked down at his glass, and gave a half snort of laughter, "Oh you know me. This is my sixth."

The stranger rolled his eyes with a grin and took a gulp of his own drink. They sat in silence for a short while, neither quite knowing what to say, or maybe having a million things each to say, but not knowing how or where to start, or even whether the other could handle what needed to be said.

Draco was almost glad that he wasn't the one to break the silence. The dark haired male pushed his now-empty glass forward with his finger so he could rest his arms on the table, and chance short glances up at Draco for a few more long moments of hesitance.

"I- I remind you of someone. I get it. You remind me of someone too. We're... not right for each other, but- but we're good pastimes."

The silence was a slightly awkward, but Draco couldn't manage more than the small nod he gave. It felt like his heart was in his throat, yet relief settled across him. He couldn't speak, but internally he was thanking Merlin, and sighing in the reassurance that he was not the only one who had be thinking about the weight of the fact that this would need to end.

"I also know it's the hair." he tugged at a loose dark curl.

Draco nodded again, his throat tightening again but this time it was accompanied with the threat of tears. It was a confusing sensation. The whole reason Draco had latched onto this stranger in the first place was because he reminded him of Harry, and he offered the same favour. But now that it was being pointed out explicitly, and at a time when Draco's mind was already swarming with thoughts of the original, it just seemed to be making him upset. Reminding him that his only option was to settle for a temporary, unhealthy solution. There was the similarity in the hair, obviously, but the differences were only easy to ignore for so long. Just the tiny little details, like how his eyes were brown, not bright emerald green. He was not quite so thin. When he smiled, he had dimples. If he had to be brutally honest, he might also have admitted the fact that the curly form his hair took was not the same, no matter how dark and messy it was to make up for that. Overall, the man was attractive; Draco knew that, and would openly say it. But as had already pointed out, they were nothing but pastimes to one another, and to try and aim for more would only be toxic and would lead to nothing but pain.

The blonde felt stupid for feeling so torn about the situation. The sooner this was over the better, and that was the harshest part of his brain speaking. Maybe ending this would make room in what he was capable of doing to have a proper conversation with Harry, rather than instantaneous disapparation away. Maybe it would even allow for less need for delicate interaction between him and his stranger. But perhaps that last one was simply wishful thinking...

"It's your eyes."

Draco allowed a small smile for that one, and touched his fingertips to his cheek, just below his eyes.

"The grey one, I mean," he added, as though he had read Draco's mind.

Draco laughed softly. If he was honest, he didn't really think his stranger would have noticed, not many people did after all. It was hard to tell. Honestly, he didn't think even Pansy had known, and she had been what he'd classes as his best friend for years.

Then again, he had to give excuses where they fit, usually heterochromia was extremely obvious. One blue eye, one green eye. One green eye, one brown eye. One brown, one hazel. That sort of thing. Draco's was so slight, he'd refused that it was anything but a trick of the light for many years, until a goblin had pointed it out one time on a trip to Gringotts with his parents. It was hard to disbelieve it after that, it was well known goblins had the sort of note to detail that it needed to spot. They really weren't all that different after all. The grey one was almost a silvery grey, and just as icy as the pale blue one. From a distance they looked exactly the same, so maybe it wasn't such a shock that his stranger had noticed it, from all the times they had been millimetres apart. But he guessed he just didn't expect his to really take notice in things that didn't have to do with whatever it was they did, besides the things that were said. He figured looking into someone's eyes was more of a romance thing than anything else, and had therefore brushed it off as an impossibility.

That being said, if that was true, he probably shouldn't have known his stranger's eye colour either... right?

His stranger gave a short laugh and placed his empty glass in he centre of the table.

"I got a hotel room if you wanna-?"

"I think that's the least awkwardly answerable question you've asked." Draco blurted out, making the other male burst out into a fit of laughter, "Yes."

The brunette stood, giving a mock bow, "I live to serve."

\---

Draco was the first awake, and familiarity flooded through his mind, however things were different now. But he didn't have anywhere to be, and rushing off for no reason felt wrong now, somehow. Like some unwritten rule about their relationship - which of course didn't exist like that, but Draco couldn't shake the obvious truth that the other male was human too, with emotions which could be more easily shattered now that sex was only part of what they were involved in. Part of him of course reminded him that that was the most of it, and for him to leave would only be what was expected of him, and that the brunette probably wouldn't over-analyse it. But it still felt wrong. The ice between them had been far too thin for far too long for him to not overthink everything surrounding their situation, and it finally was beginning to feel like the first few cracks were coming through, and he had no doubts that both of them just wanted to get off the ice safe from harm, without any trips into freezing water. That's what he needed to try and do, but they were at the centre of a lake, and ice didn't last forever.

Eventually, he willed himself to move. He wasn't intending on leaving, but at least getting dressed. It sent some sort of message, without being overly obvious... at least he thought so. And hoped so. He was perched on the end of the bed, hunched over with his elbows rested on his knees when the other male awoke, but he didn't immediately turn around.

"Got somewhere to be, Blondie? You didn't have to wait around."

Draco rolled his eyes, and threw a grin over his shoulder.

"I don't really have places to go like that. I just-"

The brunette snickered, and made to get dressed himself.

"And why's that?"

Draco shrugged, "Best way to avoid people is to not go near people. Right?"

"Right." The other male shrugged, "But it's also a way to end up totally stir crazy. Don't tell me I'm the only reason you go out... you're pale enough for that."

Draco sniggered, "Sorry to report, not quite that special."

"Damnit. Really thought I meant something to you then, Blondie."

Draco laughed again, "If I was going to put myself on house arrest, I'm afraid to say that might just involve everything outside my little bubble of a home. But a guy's got to eat, and I get bored very easily. I go out - just nowhere that means I need to rush off."

"I see, I see." the male chuckled.

"Though, I'm guessing you have to."

"Nothing personal."

"I know. I just didn't want to rush off." he gave another smile over his shoulder.

The brunette moved round to stand in front of Draco, dressed now, and a curious look on his face.

"You can do whatever you like Blondie. No strings attached, remember?"

Draco hummed, and stood too, "Doesn't mean I have to refuse to show you manners. I suppose I'll be seeing you?"

The slight tilt in his head only made his stranger laugh, as he sat down to put his shoes on.

"Suppose you will."

Draco shot a last smile before he left the room, and after that, it was all familiar walks back home.

But from then, Draco drew back. Twisted how he played things, said things, did things. Only subtly, and not in ways that would be immediately obvious, but one thing that had gone through both their minds was correct. This was going to need to end, and the sooner the better. He could wait, and he knew that. He could wait until the other stopped this, for whatever reasons he had. Because Draco sure had none. But he couldn't wait, and that was thanks to instinct. That was thanks to no longer being stupid enough to hurt anybody who didn't deserve it, like he had done in the past. He'd rather stop this now, and skip over that possibility completely.

His stranger deserved that much, after all.


	10. [10] - Now

This was it. This was it, and Draco felt on the verge of a panic attack. His glass chinked against his teeth from his shaking hands as he took a gulp. He had arrived at the club first, as had become a sort of tradition the last few times. However, this time it was just making him more nervous. For it was today that Draco had decided he was going to end this routine. He wasn't sure  _why_  he'd chosen today, but there must had been some reason, otherwise he thought he'd have carried on. Quite happily in fact.

Maybe just the realisation that this had to end had started some countdown in the of his head. And now it had expired. He knew it was healthy, and maybe this way he'd have more of a chance at a normal life. A chance at happiness, and healthy mannerisms to go along with it. Maybe he'd finally have the strength to go into Weasley Wizard Wheezes and ask for something, anything, that could help him learn to cope. He thought maybe this was just the first step to getting his life back on track. And Merlin did he want that to happen.

He was tired. He was  _so tired_  of finding comfort in temporary things, and the dark. So tired of destroying himself skin cell, by skin cell until all he was was a canvas of raw red, and black and blue. He was tired of everybody in his own world labelling him evil because of his family's deeds, but doing nothing to correct them because he agreed with them anyway. He was tired of living with regret hanging over his head, and thoughts of just stopping becoming louder and louder in his head, and knowing that soon enough he wouldn't be strong enough to drown them out or ignore that, and all he'd have left to do would be to give up.

He was so dreadfully exhausted of running away from a chance at happiness just because he believed he didn't deserve it. He wanted to deserve it, more than anything. And that was exactly why he needed to end this now.

When his stranger arrived, Draco almost didn't recognise him. This seemed to very much be a conscious choice on the other male's part, because he was kind enough to ignore Draco's shock, and embarrassed fumble to look away. The curly mop that had attracted Draco in the first place was gone, cut shorter. It was longer on top, almost a floof, and curlier now without the weight, but the back and sides had been shaved. He still looked very attractive, but to Draco it felt sort of disconnected. Like he was seeing him through another's eyes. That yes, the male was attractive, but not the sort of person he could see himself with in any sense. But he still gave the man a smile as he sat down opposite him.

"Hi."

"Hey Blondie."

Draco smiled softly, and subconsciously reached up to his hair.

"Nice hair cut by the way."

His stranger smiled almost sadly at that.

"I know it's sudden. I figured..." he wet his lips, and looked down briefly, "I figured you wanted to stop this. Were getting ready to I mean. And while I have no doubts you would have excelled at doing so politely and efficiently and  _kindly_ , I thought... I reckoned I'd make it easy for you."

And make it easy, he had. The disconnect his stranger had created made comparing him to Harry increasingly more difficult. The other male certainly knew what he was doing.

"I just..." Draco sighed, "We both deserve something more. Something that can be something permanent. Whether that's the people we wanted when we got involved with each other, or whether that's someone knew. This isn't living. It's finding temporary satisfaction in short term situations. To be honest, even if I don't deserve something more, you do, and I don't want to keep you from it. We kind of trapped ourselves in a sort of commitment despite our specific attempts not to and..."

The stranger laughed, "You don't need to give me explanations of things we've known this whole time. We don't need excuses, and we don't need grief. Agreed?"

Draco smiled softly, "Yeah... Yeah agreed."

"Then there we go." he sat back in his chair, "This routine is officially broken."

"Broken indeed." He laughed softly, "Is it... is it stupid to feel the strange urge to finally introduce ourselves."

"I guess not," he held out his hand, and Draco shook it with a laugh, "I'm Rauri. Rauri Holmes."

"Draco," the blonde replied, "Draco Malfoy."

"Nice to meet you, Draco Malfoy." he let go of his hand, and stood, "I suppose this time I  _won't_  be seeing you?"

Draco couldn't hold back is grin, "No you won't, Rauri Holmes."

%%%

A few weeks passed before Draco could really get over the drastic change in routine, but got over it he did, and it was such a relief to him when he woke up one morning with almost renewed motivation, and his mood was better than he recalled waking up with in a long time. And while unexpected, it was appreciated, and he decided to do nothing with it would be a crime. And what better place to go and use up some desire to do  _something_  than to visit Diagon Alley. Maybe some aimless wandering would give him surge enough to take a step into the Weasley shop.

And it turned out, no it didn't. He found himself where he usually did, across the street, and looking across to the bright orange building. Hands in pockets, shoulders hunched, he found himself conscious about every single stare he got, whether it was simply because he was standing around with no obvious intent, or because they recognised him and wondered why the Hell he was even here.

And he definitely did the best he could to ignore it all, because he had enough on his mind, and had enough trouble trying to get himself to do anything  _but_  stand there. On the one hand, the bright shop was practically calling him over, but on the other hand it just looked so unfriendly. And he knew that was just his paranoia - honestly what else could it be? But it was so strong he couldn't ignore it bubbling and spitting in the back of his head, and he went to walk away. He was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Draco didn't have to see the hand's owner to know who they were.

"Potter."

"Draco." the male replied softly.

Draco turned, making Potter drop his hand, and smiled to his, eyes darting to the floor in embarrassment as he moved it to take Draco's wrist instead.

"Please don't leave again."

"I... actually wasn't intending to this time."

"The thing is... I just-" Potter bit his lip, and looked to catch Draco's eyes, "I've been thinking about you a lot recently. Would you- would you maybe join me for a coffee?"

And Draco's mind went blank. For a few long moments, he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Not even a simple 'yes' or 'no' crossed his mind, and he figured he must have looked pretty stupid, just gawking at him after the question he'd been asked. In the end, neither of those answers came to mind until after he'd blurting out something completely different.

"I heard you." he blurted.

"I-" Potter tilted his head.

"I heard you, at the lake. You used to go there to play guitar. You- you destroyed the guitar..."

"Ah..." he let go of Draco's wrist, "Well- join me for coffee and I can tell you all about that."

Draco had to bite back a grin, "How can I say no to that?"

Coffee took them to a muggle café, which Draco agreed was a good idea. They were both known throughout the wizarding world for different and opposing reasons, and to be seen together was probably still a strange concept. Even if there was nothing date-like in the event. At least... Draco didn't think there was.

"I knew you were there by the way." Potter - Harry - said as the two sat down with their respective coffees, that Draco had bought refusing argument from the other.

"Knew?"

"Yeah. That you came to listen to me play. It was why I went down at night on my own. To play for you." He blushed.

"You- that's why you went alone?"

Harry nodded, "It probably seems quite-"

"Sweet." Draco cut in before Harry could finish, blushing "That's sweet. There was probably no way for you to know this but... those nights really helped me through a lot actually. Made me feel like I actually knew you. y'know?"

"You mean you didn't know me? Hello," he rolled his eyes with a sarcastic smile, "Harry Potter."

"I mean  _really_  know you. Like your friends did."

Draco wasn't sure that could ever really explain what he meant. Of course, Harry was right, Draco knew him in a sort of way. But only in the sort of vague way that most people did. He had grown up hearing about him, and every selflessly stupid heroic thing he ever did while they were at Hogwarts, he absolutely heard about every single one. He knew about how he had led Dumbledore's Army, and apparently had done a very good job at teaching it until the Inquisitorial Squad forcibly disbanded them. He'd heard about Harry's relationship with Ginny Weasley before it was really anything widely known in school, and he'd heard every single rumour about the boy. He knew a lot, more than maybe most of their peers, but he'd never really  _known_  him better than those times by the lake. And he'd spent the whole time thinking his attendance was unknown. It was those times that really made him feel like he had any choice in what he did at all. It hadn't changed anything though, he'd done terrible things anyway, but it was one of his fondest memories.

"Well, I suppose that's partially my fault..." he paused for a moment, before holding his hand out, "Harry Potter."

Perhaps his response was slightly too quick, because Harry laughed slightly when Draco shook his hand, stating his own name.

"You have no idea how often I've wished that's how it really went in first year."

"You're right. I don't. But that's how it's gone this time. And I... I want to start again. Whatever went wrong the first time around, I want to fix it this time. If you're willing?"

"I think you'll find I'm a little more than willing."

Harry could only grin in response to that.

%%%

If his long-awaited friendship with Harry did anything for Draco, it was get him out of the house. It turned out that Harry really didn't have much to do around the Ministry anymore as he waited for his work at Hogwarts to begin, which wasn't until the rear end of the summer. Harry  admitted that he'd specifically asked to come when Draco had had to be investigated that one time, months ago. Draco simply made a joke to keep the mood light. But as they both had such large quantities of time on their hands, they had taken to meeting with one another on most days.

The activity they did depended mostly on the day. A lot of the time they found themselves in various coffee shops all around London, and around where they each lived. Some days brought them into each other's homes where they would play infuriating games of wizards chess, or muggle games Harry kept in a cupboard. And other days took to them to any attraction, muggle or otherwise, that caught their attentions.

But no matter what they did, Draco enjoyed every second of it. Harry was bringing him back to life in a way he hadn't been since he was a young child. Forcing oxygen into his aching lungs, and healing his wounds from the inside out. He was revived in a way that gave him the same burst of hope that he could do something good with his life that he'd felt when sneaking out to listen to him play the guitar. Harry was bringing him back to life.

And Draco had forgotten how good it felt to breath.


	11. [11] - Now

"Where are we even going?"

Harry rolled his eyes, and grabbed at Draco's sleeve, "Just come on, and stop whining. Do you not trust me?"

"I trust you, just not your sense of direction."

He just glared, and Draco couldn't help but laugh, but followed the other anyway, because they did have apparition on their side, and while ground travel was certainly not Harry's strong suit, Draco figured his travels searching for horcruxes for all that time must have made him at least a little better. For this reasoning, he rolled his eyes and latched onto Harry's wrist, preparing himself best he could for the lurch behind his naval.

The two came out down an alley on some muggle street somewhere. Draco didn't pretend to know where, but followed Harry anyway. The way he saw it, he could get home okay, and he figured Harry wouldn't be trying to lose him. He didn't ask where it was they were going, and was correct by figuring he would find out soon enough.

"A pub?" Draco asked, "Bit of a step up from coffee."

"Oh come off it," Harry rolled his eyes with a soft laugh, "I just thought it would be nice, but I still don't trust the likes of the Leaky Cauldron or Three Broomsticks."

"Well, I'm with you there. I watching you though - trying to get me drunk."

"You caught me. Now, c'mon."

Harry took the hem of Draco's sleeve - an action Draco really had begun to notice becoming a habit - and led him into the pub. It was small, not very busy, and kind of gloomy. But in the sort of musky, smoky way, that makes you almost dizzy. Draco liked pubs like these. He could drink away his thoughts, and not have to dwell on the fact that drinking troubles away was absolutely a bad idea. Of course, he wasn't going to tell Harry that, and apart from ordering his drink, he kept his mouth shut until they found seats tucked away in a corner, where they could see most of the place, but wouldn't be given many second glances, if any.

"We don't have to stay here if you don't like it. Only you went all quiet."

"What? No, it's actually rather nice in here. Sorry."

Harry didn't seem so sure for a long couple of moments, keeping almost an annoyingly close eye on how Draco was acting, to which he responded, by trying to make cheerful conversation. Or as cheerful as he could muster anyway, especially as they ended up talking about school. Harry had quickly come to realise that Draco didn't like talking about the war, or what came after, and Draco didn't expect Harry to talk about his experiences of that time if he wasn't willing to reciprocate, so it became just common subject to talk about their school experiences as they had those in common, and were not so unwilling to talk.

They stayed in the small pub for the majority of the late afternoon, and onwards into the early evening, drinking steadily, but inevitably ending up intoxicated. It was a nice feeling, Draco couldn't argue with that because he was smiling, and laughing, and he couldn't remember having done it so convincingly for a long time. Even when conversation turned to less happy memories concerning their childhoods, the two found things to laugh about, hindsight allowing them to realise that however awful the time of their early lives had been, it had gotten worse, and it was only now things were going to be able to get better.

"Wait, I'm sorry," Draco snickered, "You slept _where_?"

"In a cupboard-" Harry broke into a fit of laughter, "In a cupboard under the stairs."

"Weren't you cramped?"

"Of course I was! I got used to it though, and actually, I got moved to my cousin's second bedroom when my letters started arriving because it had my cupboard in the address. The Dursleys weren't too happy about that."

"I can imagine." Draco hummed, "They're muggles aren't they?"

"And despised everything to do with magic. Summers were the bane of my existence, which was why I appreciated it when I could stay with the Weasleys for the duration of most summers. Anyway," Harry shook his head, and took another gulp of his drink, "What about your childhood. Any tragic stories to tell?"

Draco laughed along with him, "I'm not sure about tragic. Especially not when followed by your horror story-" Harry choked on his drink in laughter, "- I just had a literal Death Eater as a father."

"Just your father?"

"Yeah. My mother never took the mark. Her loyalty was never to the Dark- uh, You-Know-Who. It was always to my father, and me."

"Sorry. I just... assumed I guess."

"Most people did. But even if she wasn't officially... y'know, she was still on his side."

Draco almost added a woeful 'like me' to the end of his sentence, but quickly stopped himself as he realised that would look a lot like a bid for attention. Which was not his goal. Instead, he took another drink from his glass, and was thankful that Harry realised maybe that part was too close to their agreed taboo, and moved on.

"And what about when you were younger. I mean... growing up You-Know-Who wasn't around."

"True," Draco hummed, "My father was the type of scum to lie about being under the imperious curse, and get away with it just because nobody had proof to call him out. So I grew up in moderate comfort. I say moderate only because I know you're aware that I was a spoiled brat. I got everything I wanted, everything I asked for, even if I didn't want it, but simply because I'd said the words 'I want'. And I guess, at ten years old, that was the dream, especially considering I wasn't in the unfortunate situation of not knowing who or what I was."

"You don't sound too happy about that though..." Harry trailed.

Draco took another drink, swiping his tongue gingerly along dry lips before continuing, making note to watch his step, mind what he said, and hope he didn't come across too much like his eleven-year-old self.

"I say moderate," he repeated, "because of course, that was great. Being a kid and getting everything I looked at for more than three seconds. But in hindsight - and hindsight alone - I realise that was the only good thing about my childhood. That, and my mother. She's caring. Like she was _made_ to be a mum, and despite any grumblings from my father, she babied me, took care of me, and made sure I knew I was loved."

Harry stayed quiet for a moment, and Draco cursed himself because this was the boy who hadn't known love until he'd gotten to Hogwarts, and here he was beginning a complaint with the fact that his mother loved him. But Harry said nothing about that.

"I suppose it wasn't the same with your dad?"

Draco shook his head.

"He always had opinion in mind. I couldn't touch him in public, or talk to him unless it was something he'd scripted before we'd left the house. I couldn't even think about disturbing him if he was in his study, and dinner times were silent. Not a totally ridiculous set of rules, right?"

Harry shrugged, "Seem pretty ridiculous to expect a child to be able to do."

"Well, that's exactly where the problem was. Look, I-" he chuckled nervously, "I'm bordering rambling here. Do you wanna-"

"I'm interested." Harry interrupted, "Unless you aren't comfortable telling me, please carry on. I'm not asking out of courtesy, I'm asking because I want to know."

The blonde sighed. Well that was it wasn't it. Was he comfortable with Harry knowing this? It was a stupid thing to ask though because there was a part of him, there always had been a part of him that ached for Harry to know everything about him. Every part of his life, the story between every crack in his skin, and every memory that thundered in his head. He'd wanted Harry to know, but now the simple act of telling was in fact not so simple. The opportunity was there, Harry had laid it out plain and clear, but there was something... something so pointless and stupid, but there all the same, settling in the back of his head where paranoia bred, that made him think it was a bad idea.

But stopping himself was futile.

With an opportunity so perfect, he couldn't listen to his own half-hearted warnings. He never would have.

Harry, seeming to sense the inner debate, smiled patiently, and gently urged him on, "That's where the problem was?"

Draco sighed, but there was a hint of a laugh there too, and he downed the last drop of his drink, and nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's where the problem was. I had everything I wanted materialistically, but apparently my father was never going to be one with kids. I started breaking his rules around the time that I realised it got me attention. Not positive attention obviously, but the first few times was me being a kid. But the more I did it, the more annoyed he got. By the time I realised I was getting nowhere, and was due to start Hogwarts, whatever relationship we had was kind of ripped to shreds. Pretty sure my dad wanted to try everything to have another heir so he wouldn't have to deal with me being heir of the Malfoys. But as I said, my mother was all round a better parent than him."

"Sounds it..." Harry's voice had suddenly gone very quiet, as though Draco was suddenly submerged in water, and was hearing him through the currents.

He jumped ever so slightly when Harry trailed his hand over Draco's wrist, the unexpected touch making the warmth of his skin comfortable, and he assumed Harry knew what he was doing when he felt the same lurch behind his naval, and ended up just down the street from Harry's apartment. Harry latched onto his hand when he stumbled slightly, and as he slurred something about giving him warning next time, Harry tightened his grip and pulled him along.

"Sorry, I just figured we'd be better at home... though I did try to get us to the complete opposite end of the street."

Draco allowed himself to be pulled along, and at some point, about halfway to Harry's place, he found himself holding his hand back, enjoying the warmth, and maybe just slightly enjoying the feeling of belonging Harry provided.

As it turned out, Harry wasn't completely unprepared for the unexpected trip home, and managed to fish out some bottles of firewhiskey when Draco pretended he was disappointed that they hadn't even gotten to have a final drink.

Conversations continued.

Intoxications rose.

By the early hours of the morning, the two were practically giggling, unable to sit up straight and laughing about the stupidest of things - anything they could think of. Draco laughed about the time that Harry had imitated the Bloody Baron's voice to send Peeves away, and Harry laughed at the time Draco had climbed up a tree just for the dramatic effect when he teased Harry about being a champion. Draco laughed at the time Harry had pretty much been high on Felix Felicis, and Harry laughed at the time Draco spent a tiring night trying to teach the Slytherins to sing in time to the 'Weasley is our King' song. They laughed until they couldn't remember anything else worth a laugh, but by then they barely needed reason.

"You know-" Draco hiccupped, twisting in his seat slightly.

"I know rather a lot of things." Harry nodded.

"Probably not as much as you should. I'm about ninety percent sure Hogwarts now has an adequate amount of education going on now you're not there. Are you going to ruin it in September?"

"I think you'll find I can be a good teacher."

Draco raised his eyebrow, unashamed to admit that hi immediate thought was to come up with some sort of innuendo.

But he never got round to it.

In his drunken haze, it took him a little too long to realise what was happening. Mouth on his, trying to draw out reciprocation that was lost on Draco before he actually processed that Harry was kissing him. And actually, even one sided, it was a lot more than a kiss.

But it took him too long to figure it out.

Harry pulled back, his face a bright red, and he fumbled out an apology, twittering that he just got caught in the moment. He had no idea what he was thinking. It was inappropriate, uncalled for, and he had absolutely no idea what came over him, because 'I promise sober me wouldn't have done that'. And Draco almost believed him. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach, and his breath left in a wave of dizziness, leaving him slumped. Colour drained, and the back of his eyes ached with the promise of tears. Because even now, all these years later, rejection was what everybody around him would always call a trigger. He refused. He refused, and refused, and refused, but he couldn't anymore. Even this, panicked rejection, was bringing about emotions he was used to, but wouldn't ever be able to get over without pain, and distraction, and it wasn't even real! Draco had his coping mechanisms for the daily shit his mind threw at him, and this was Harry's coping mechanism for something he thought might just have cost him a friend he had only just managed to gain. But Draco wasn't going to allow for that to stick.

"No, come back here."

He grabbed at the collar of Harry's shirt, and tugged it towards him, perhaps more roughly than he meant to,  but once his lips were back against Harry's it didn't matter anyway, because awkwardness lay forgotten, and all either could think about was the closeness of their bodies, and the heat shifting between their mouths as they longed for oxygen, but craved each other more.

Chest to chest, the two barely moved millimetres from each other, yet both remained capable of drawing soft gasps and moans from the other, simply with fingertips against necks, and bare hips, and to pull bodies closer. Until it wasn't enough. Buttons popped, fabric tugged, and it was only as Harry's hands trailed up the blemished flesh of his back, did Draco resurface from his intoxicated daze with a sharp exhale, and a barely audible 'wait.'

Harry stopped, confusion splashed across his face, and Draco could have sworn he looked somewhat hurt.

"Fuck, I-" Draco lowered his head, trailing his eyes along the visible strip of Harry's stomach, as the man lay beneath him, hands now at his thighs.

"I'm sorry." he was breathless too, "I'm sorry. I know, I shouldn't have-"

"No." Draco pressed, "No, it's not that. Shit, it's not."

He pressed one palm to his own stomach, firmly over the fabric of his shirt, trailing his other hand under Harry's shirt to press his other palm against his flesh. It was almost subconscious, a reminder from the back of his head of who he cared for more; of whose body he could stand, and whose he still hated after so long. But just like that, it must have clicked, because Harry breathed softer, and shuffled to sit up, though keeping Draco close.

"The scars... right? That I- are they that bad?"

Draco could see the regret, and it was all he could do not to breakdown, and he almost did as he realised he couldn't bring himself to care. His hatred for what lay under his shirt was nothing to do with Harry, and maybe he didn't want him to see the damage, but if it stopped that regret, the pain behind his eyes, then maybe he could keep on not caring.

He leant forward, kissing the dark haired male again, softer this time, hands gentle against his neck, and shoulder, and focussing on the sensation of Harry's lips moving against his own - a gesture he thought only to be one of fantasy - in a way to will himself not to flinch as Harry's hands returned to their previous venture, more cautiously this time. Draco didn't stop him, and expected the worst when Harry pulled away to look over what he expected to be only what he had seen before, though expecting neat stark white scars etched into even whiter skin. But this... this was a mess of scar tissue and flesh where you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. Draco had prepared himself to move quickly, should he need to, and had devised a plan for the quickest route up and out. It was therefore safe to say that Draco hadn't expected Harry to kiss him again. Softly like he had done, and Draco first figured it was piteous, but then came to the conclusion that it was actually just meant to be comforting, maybe just a little sad. And Draco had to admit he appreciated it, and in fact everything this situation had been turned into so far, but he didn't need comfort, and he didn't need any more sadness. Not from Harry.

He kissed back harder.


	12. [12] - Then

Draco remembered very well the first time he had been with a guy. Or more specifically, he remembered how right it felt. How he didn't want to cringe, when lips met his, or found their way to his neck. He finally felt as though he knew who he was beyond what everybody had already told him to be because of his last name. But the discovery of his identity did not immediately encourage him to celebrate.

He couldn't be gay.

He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were nothing less than perfect. And in his father's eyes, being gay was not perfect. He was supposed to grow up, take a pureblood wife, and have children - preferably sons - to continue the Malfoy line. That had been the basis for the course of his life since before he was born. He couldn't be gay, he just couldn't. What would his father say? Maybe he'd disown him. It would be traumatic, but hey, he could then be himself right? But then, his father would probably guess that, and wouldn't let him off so easy. Force him to take a wife anyway, when he was old enough, and refuse any excuse he could give as to why they had no kids. It was a disaster. Draco Malfoy couldn't be gay.

The guy was in the year above Draco, and was a Ravenclaw. He had understood that Draco couldn't let anybody know, and was fine with the fact because he hadn't wanted people to know so much either, and besides, both had an agreement that dating in secret probably wasn't going to last long, but could be sweet and exclusive while they wanted it to be. It led them to dark corners, and secret passages, and quick pit stops ducking into broom closets between classes and before dinner. And Draco really liked him. It was so easy sometimes that he could forget that he liked someone else more. Because Harry had been a blip, he didn't think that could ever actually mean that he was anything but straight. But it was different with the Ravenclaw because he was Draco's if only for a short few months. And every single moment was new, with a taste of danger as Draco realised how little chance he would have to do anything like this with a guy again once he left school and actually had a life to live.

But while Andre Ford had been his first everything, Draco had been only too aware that he was not the Ravenclaw's first. On the one hand, it meant Draco rarely worried about awkwardness on both sides, because Andre was usually more than patient with him, but on the other hand, it gave an intense sense of lacking, and often he found himself being cautious. Like, where were his hands supposed to go? Would he come across as too quick if they slipped from waist to hips? And what the  _Hell_  was he supposed to navigate French kissing?

The whole thing had been an experience to say the least, but more often than not, any mishaps had just made the boys dissolve into laughter, and more messy make-outs, and that was fine by him. Those months with Andre had been the highlight of his school career so far, and somehow he didn't feel guilty for admitting that. He was happy with Andre, and it wasn't even like Andre was only with him because he had to be. It had been something he'd chosen and while they both knew that the likelihood of it becoming anything permanent, they were willing to make it work for as long as possible because they were  _happy_  and it was happiness they wanted to cling to.

Unfortunately, attachment was of course something a person had no control over, and Draco's only relief was that he was not the only one attached. They reached a point in their relationship where they wanted more. They didn't want to cling to the idea that this was temporary, and neither could deny that they didn't think that bothered them so much any more. Plus the idea in question was uncharted territory for Andre too, and Draco was only too willing to explore that with him. And maybe in hindsight, it had been such a stupid idea, but it happened, and mistake or not, Draco wouldn't have changed it.

Draco's first time actually  _sleeping_  with a guy had been in the middle of the day, in a disused classroom, and they skipped class to do so.

After that, it became increasingly hard for both of them to remember that their relationship was supposed to be a secret, because they found that all they wanted to do was be around each other. Draco wouldn't have cared if they were studying, or if all they happened to do was see how quickly they could tear each others clothes off, he just wanted to be within the same space as him. But they couldn't - that part of their agreements had to stay in place because neither was out, nor ready to be. Of course, Draco was less ready, and this was proven when, during one of their evening meetings, Andre admitted that he'd been thinking about it.

"My parents will accept me," he had said, "I've always known that. And my friends probably will but... it's still scary."

Draco had to agree there, and his heart was pounding in his chest just thinking of the proposal he was about to make, but the truth was, he was a stupid kid in love, and at the time he had been convinced that he'd do anything for this boy.

"If you come out, so will I." he'd offered shakily.

"You would?"

"I'll certainly try. Maybe my mother first. If- if that's okay?"

Andre had only presented him with a huge grin, and captured him in a kiss so deep it had all but eradicated his nerves, and that very night he wrote a letter to his mother. It was deep, and heart-wrenching, and Draco had cried at least twice while writing it, but still he continued. He laid it out plain and simply, showcasing his fears about even writing the thing, and hoping desperately that she would continue loving him anyway.

Come morning, he wished he'd waited to send it. His confidence had left him and he was left with a numbing empty feeling, one that told him that he may have done the wrong thing. He'd addressed it specifically to his mother, but hoping only her eyes would read it might have been a little too unrealistic to wish for.

When his owl flew in with his morning post, his heart sank, and then sank further still when he recognised his father's handwriting. He had wasted no time reading it, because he knew from experience that family matters were best to deal with to get them over with quickly.

At least he didn't have to worry about being disowned. His father wasn't angry, or at least not to the extent that Draco had expected, and maybe it could have been worse. But still, he hurt to be told he was a disappointment, and that his father didn't care, and would ignore what he'd said. It was something Draco should keep to himself, and he would take a wife. It didn't matter if he didn't love her, so long as he provided an heir to continue the family line. Draco was surprised by how little immediate affect the letter had on him, and he knew full well it would hit him when he was alone, but something like that? That was just about what it usually took to knock him out of his Malfoy facade, yet he sat so still and cold.

Or at least he did until Pansy Parkinson asked him why he'd suddenly gone all quiet, and he couldn't excuse himself quick enough. He hadn't particularly wanted to be followed at all, but when Andre appeared peering round the tapestry that his the passageway he'd hidden in, Draco couldn't find it in him to be distant. The Ravenclaw had let him cry, had said nothing until Draco was ready to hear it, and he refused to hear any apologies for the fact he'd missed half of first lesson.

His support when Draco explained the situation reminded him why he'd ended up liking Andre more and more over the course of their relationship, despite it starting out for both of them on a whim. The boy even seemed to understood why Draco distanced when he tried to kiss him, and hadn't tried again until Draco had been the one to initiate. And it hadn't been for a few days, but he did so, after coming to the decision that he wasn't going to reply to Lucius' letter, and instead would push it from his head. And once he did that, the next few months passed smoothly. But he would have had to be stupid not to realise that something was dwindling. Fizzling out.

On Draco's part it was because he spent the majority of his time confused. The wizarding world was rather a lot more progressive than muggles were, and he could sort of understand the whole pureblood lineage thing, in some twisted way, but he was beginning to question why exactly his father had been so disapproving, and unaccepting. Sure, he was prejudice in the majority of things, but before the topic applied to him, Draco wouldn't have pegged Lucius to be homophobic on top of everything else. The other part was because while he absolutely adored Andre, and had ventured to say he loved him on a few rare occasions, the longer he had to come to terms with his sexuality, the more certain he became that whatever he had felt for Harry before had not been a blip. He didn't know what the reasoning may have been on Andre's side, and only found out at a dreaded situation.

He was kind about the whole thing, same as he was kind about everything, and he refused to let Draco be confused about any of his motives. It was all very clear. He was breaking up with Draco because he didn't want to put more strain on whatever Draco was dealing with, with his family, and he had to admit that he wasn't sure he wanted to be secret about a relationship anymore, but he could never expect Draco to disclose his sexuality to the student body just for him - that would be so grossly unfair to him. He also admitted that maybe it wasn't a big deal - and maybe it never had been - but he'd always suspected there were some feelings involved on the topic of Harry Potter. And that was totally fine, Harry had come before him, and it wasn't like some horrible break up had distorted those feelings. Maybe just a relationship.

Of course Draco completely understood, and he wasn't going to make Andre stay when he wanted to go, but he wouldn't lie - he had been so deeply thankful when Andre had kissed him again, that last time. And he waited until Andre left before he let the weight of what had just happened hit him. And when it did, it hit like a tidal wave, and the pain in his chest was familiar, yes, but it didn't make it the slightest bit easier to deal with. Maybe a few months was supposed to be nothing but... it just wasn't. He wouldn't have taken it back, but he almost felt that his letter was useless now. He had come out,  and that was almost an accomplishment, but now he had to deal with that backlash, and not only did he have no idea how to do that, he no longer had the reason he'd come out in the first place to help him.

And he wasn't sure which of the two hurt more.


	13. [13] - Now

Draco woke up hazed, but it didn't take long for the events of the previous night to catch up to him, and  he suddenly found himself wide eyed and body tensed. It was a strange middle ground between a panic attack and throwing up where there was a sudden fear that you might actually do both. It didn't help that Harry was no longer on the sofa entwined around him like he had been last night, and Draco could smell the cooking of some breakfast or other. That might just have given him time to get dressed and quickly take his leave without any awkward goodbyes, but the part of him that was making him feel ready to throw up urged him to rush to the bathroom instead. And though he didn't actually vomit, he found that locking himself in the bathroom, rather loudly, and with his own thoughts had rather effectively disallowed him from leaving without any interaction with Harry.

"Draco?" the voice came from just outside the door, though Draco hadn't heard the footsteps.

"I'm going. I'm sorry, I just needed to uh..." he shook his head, having no idea what to say, and just wishing that he could sink through the floor.

Anything to get away from this situation. Suddenly, and for the first time in months, he longed to return to the simplicity of the whole thing with Rauri. He always knew exactly where he stood with him, but this? This was entirely new now, and it was with someone he couldn't afford awkwardness and avoidance. They'd finally come so far as friendship, he couldn't let that disappear. Not now.

"What? No, no, you don't have to go. Please don't go. I'm- I'm making breakfast, I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Draco didn't reply to that. He wasn't being sick, which he figured that's what Harry was thinking, but he wasn't sure he was what you would call okay. And actually what was he supposed to say? He couldn't really convince Harry that he was okay, considering he'd woken up and immediately locked himself in the bathroom, but he couldn't say he wasn't okay, because how was he supposed to explain why? And saying he didn't want to talk about it just seemed rude.

"I'm sorry... I overstepped last night. And I know you went along, but I shouldn't have gone for it anyway."

Draco scoffed, and went to argue, but then the hazed memories seemed to clear a bit. And actually, that was right. It was Harry that kissed Draco first. And as he had said, Draco had reciprocated, and that was indeed what led to them sleeping together, but Draco wasn't sure he was actually capable of putting the blame on Harry there, and would likely continue to blame himself. But whoever's fault, the fact remained that it had happened, and now things were bound to be awkward, and Draco would have to avoid him all over again, and this time Harry would be avoiding him too, and the idea of it hurt Draco somewhere deep in his chest.

With a resigned sigh, he stood, and opened the bathroom door.

"And you  _don't_  want me to leave?" he asked disbelievingly.

Harry shook his head, "Of course not. I shouldn't have- I know that. But I don't think I could deal with letting it split us apart again. I love being your friend Draco, I do. And I seriously regret it taking this long for it to happen. I don't want something more to ruin that."

"Something more?" the blonde frowned.

Harry blushed, and looked away, "I just mean that  if it's between having you as a friend, or doing something to drive you away, I would pick being your friend. Always. It's been too long, and too much has happened. We don't need the hostility anyway; I doubt either of us want it. And I just... I'm sorry if last night made everything a shit storm but just... please don't go."

Draco stared at him for a long time before he could think of anything to say. And even when he did, it didn't quite feel like enough.

"I'm not going to go."

Harry gave a soft relieved sigh, and his shoulders slumped, before coaxing Draco to 'come and have some breakfast'. The two ate in silence, and there was an obviously thin line, and neither could quite figure out whether it was comfortable or uncomfortable, but neither was willing to break it, should it tip the scales to the unfavourable side. But eventually, about half way through their meals, Draco couldn't hold in his questions anymore because this might well be the only chance to ask and set his mind at ease.

"What did you mean by something more? And- doing something to drive me away?"

Harry bit his lip cautiously, and slowly pushed his plate away.

"I just meant, that what happened last night... I don't want it to ruin what we have, even if that isn't something friends do."

"No it's not. It's... well, it's  _something more_  Harry." he sighed softly, looking away, "What was your reasoning for doing that. I have my own for reciprocating, but I don't- I don't understand."

"I wouldn't have done it this way. Really I wouldn't. My reasoning was that I was drunk. I was drunk and I couldn't process how I really wanted to do it. I didn't have the words, I couldn't have said them without slurring anyway. And I just... I fucked it up didn't I? I should have just said fuck it wait until you sober up, but all I could think was how beautiful you looked, and I just wanted to kiss you, and then you kissed back, and it- it just... it just went too far. Further than I wanted it to. I'm sorry."

Draco shook his head, but the pinkish tinge on his cheeks was noticeable, "What do you mean? Words for what?"

"And they call me oblivious," he gave a short bark of a laugh, and let out an exasperated grunt, tugging at his hair, "I like you, you know? Alright, I'm pretty stuck in this hole, and I just so desperately wanted to be your friend, but then it just... it just became more but it was so flimsy. It was this new friendship, that came after years and years of bullshit, and I didn't want to risk anything that would push you away again, but I like you, like, I really do."

"You like me." Draco deadpanned, momentarily dazed as he tried to process what Harry had just admitted, "Like me in a... in a like... last night sort of way?"

Harry, despite himself, couldn't help but laugh, "I suppose so... more sincere though I hope."

"Pinch me, I'm dreaming."

Harry obliged and pinched him, jokingly, Draco thought, but it hurt enough to drag him from the dazed state.

"Holy shit," he stood and paced the room, running his hands through his hair and locking his fingers, hands sat at the base of his neck, "Holy shit, you like me. Harry bleeding Potter."

"Alright," Harry mumbled, "You don't need to be so-"

"Shut your face, and don't you dare finish that sentence. Do you  _know_  how long I have told myself hearing those words are impossible. Can you even  _comprehend_  years of accepting a rejection that was never even official, only to wake up one morning and suddenly the impossible is possible and  _Harry fucking Potter_  has feelings for me?"

"You-" Harry did a sort of double take, "You thought it was impossible? Why were you even-"

"You're so dense Potter," but his tone was light, "I've been in love with you since third year!"

It suddenly went very quiet and Draco realised just how carelessly he'd admitted that, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it. It had been bubbling, rattling around in his head for eight years, maybe it was about time it was spoken.

Draco coughed lightly, and ran his tongue along his lips, nodding gently.

"Yeah... I've been in love with you since third year."

 


End file.
